


siren

by allMessedup



Category: Real Person Fiction, The Ultimate Sidemen, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: A bit of kiss, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, F/M, Haunted Houses, Romance, Talia's a ghost, They are my babies and I love them so much, mentions the other sidemen, soft kiss, softies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 17:09:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20411332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allMessedup/pseuds/allMessedup
Summary: She pulled out a chair at the small table in between them, dark oak like the door though he could barely see it. He heard the dragging of the chair against the floor, heard her drag another one out like she expected him to sit there with her. It was as if her warmth casted a candle light over the room; everywhere she went she illuminated the way, her warmth lit up the table and chairs in front and around her as she looked at him expectantly.“No I mean, why are you in this… building? A bit out of the way for a songwriter isn’t it?”She kept her eyes on him as he walked towards the chair opposite from her, the one she didn’t pull out for him, and sat down. She tapped her fingers against the table, white and clean tablecloth dulling the sound as he shifted awkwardly in his seat. Nothing felt weak or squeaky, the chair definitely didn’t feel like it could collapse from under him at any second. The table felt stable when he rested his elbows on it, the glassware barely any cracks.— Simon Minter x Ghost!Talia Mar fanfic





	siren

**Author's Note:**

> I love them so much and I'm sorry I killed Talia but this was too cute to pass up

“Alright guys, so here we are at the- where are we?” 

“Apple Crumble House.” 

“What- No, it’s not.”

“Simon, what else could it be?” 

“No Ethan. It’s…” 

“The Appuldurcombe House.” 

“Thanks Josh.” 

The bearded man nodded with a smile, into Simon’s camera before he switched the camera back to his own face. 

“Yeah so we’re here because it’s supposed to be haunted. We’re staying here for 8 days, so we’ve all got our bags,” he showed the rest of the group, all lugging suitcases and carry-ons up the stairs, creaking with the boys all holding their own cameras and doing their own commentary. 

“Yeah and we got this old house to ourselves for 8 days, we’re going to be sharing rooms and we’ll be drawing lots later. I’ve seen some of the rooms, and I just want the first one, it’s _huge_. We’ll draw the lots first and then I’ll get back to you guys.” 

**♮**

“Alright so I’m sharing the biggest room with Harry, we’re getting settled in, all our bags are opened but we’ll be sleeping in sleeping bags cause there’s no beds.” 

Harry slammed his suitcase on the floor, causing the room to shake and the other to yell at him. 

“Oh my days!” 

“Yo! This was expensive. Harry, let’s not destroy it!” 

“My bag’s heavy.” 

“You’re paying if there’s a hole.” 

“I don’t have that sort of money lying around!” 

“Yeah, so we’ve just gotten settled in, Harry’s already destroying the house and we’ll see what happens at night.” He smiled to the camera, as Harry scratched his head, muttering over hoping the house was all okay. 

He shut off the camera, placing it into his bag on top of all his clothes. 

“Is the floor okay?” 

“Yeah just… Nobody should step there for 8 days.” 

Simon sighed into his palms, hoping they wouldn’t have to pay for damages after all this was over. 

**♮**

“Alright so we’re supposed to be exploring the house one by one, one Sideman each night. Today’s my night and yeah, it’s freaky at night.”

Simon had a different camera out, one with night vision, as he crept through the house. The stairs he used to go down had been wooden, and the creaking had hurt his ears all the way, all sharp and loud and unstable with every step, he was almost afraid he’d fall through. Most of the floor was marble, dirt stained but cleaned as best as they could be since it’s been opened to the public. The walls had run their time, cracks with ivy evident through the bricks, paint chipping off and peeling in large patches, pillars barely holding up the roofs. 

After the renovation works done before it opened to the public, it wasn’t all that scary. 

Most of the house had been hollowed out, roofs removed and doors broken down to reveal most of the rooms. It was a skeleton of what it should have been, but there was a haunting air that sent a shiver through his spine. He made sure to capture what they could see, the open roof and the stars, and the walls that were empty and hollow in a different way. 

It was supposedly haunted, and he figured the strumming of a guitar was all par for the course. There was a humming, soft and melodic, feminine and old-fashioned and calming and definitely should not be there in a home full of sleeping boys. 

But as if entranced, he walked towards the voice as if he knew exactly where to find it. His camera flickered off, its red blinking light dying out, and his arms fell limp by his side. 

He stopped in front of one of the preserved rooms, the dark oak wood clean and the brass doorknob seeming to glisten under the moonlight. His free hand reached out to twist it, and it opened surprisingly easily, as if it was brand new and well taken care of. 

The door let him in easily, barely a creak or squeak as it opened in. 

_“I have learnt my lesson not to waste time on us_

_Told you I’m a winner, you’re a runner up_

_I have moved on to better things and better days_

_I’ve been working on a better me, stay out of my way” _

It was the voice, the humming that was soft and feminine and so calming, and he stood like he was hypnotised. 

The figure in front of him was sat near the windows with a guitar in hand, loose paper in front of her. The moonlight streamed in through the large windows, and bathed her silhouette in a cool silver, strawberry blonde hair catching the pale lights like magnets. Her tunic was loose over her, falling off of a relaxed shoulder and revealing bare slender, tanned legs, propped up against the cushioned window seat. 

“Can I help you?” 

She turned towards him, and her gaze felt more like she was staring through him than right at him and he wasn’t sure what was scarier. Her eyes were so warm, standing out against the silver that outlined her. Everything about her radiated warmth, and maybe that was what made her stand out against the cold background. 

“Are you there? Anyone inside that head of yours?” 

He snapped out of it when she stood up, discarding the guitar on the floor next to her and pen now laid nicely on the loose sheets of paper. She took a few steps towards him, and he hesitantly took a few steps back, shaking from his breath to his fingers. It was a strangely cold room, and stuffy and it honestly felt like it was closing in on him, but he still stood and stared at him as the only warmth radiating through the room. 

“Yeah, it’s just… Why are you here?” 

She laughed, loud and high and it wasn’t melodic by any means, but it fell nicely on his ears; it suited the glow and glimmer that the moon gave her. 

“I’m writing a song, what else did you think it was?”

She pulled out a chair at the small table in between them, dark oak like the door though he could barely see it. He heard the dragging of the chair against the floor, heard her drag another one out like she expected him to sit there with her. It was as if her warmth casted a candle light over the room; everywhere she went she illuminated the way, her warmth lit up the table and chairs in front and around her as she looked at him expectantly. 

“No I mean, why are you in this… building? A bit out of the way for a songwriter isn’t it?” 

She kept her eyes on him as he walked towards the chair opposite from her, the one she didn’t pull out for him, and sat down. She tapped her fingers against the table, white and clean tablecloth dulling the sound as he shifted awkwardly in his seat. Nothing felt weak or squeaky, the chair definitely didn’t feel like it could collapse from under him at any second. The table felt stable when he rested his elbows on it, the glassware barely any cracks. 

Everything felt brand new. 

“Well, I died in this building. Can’t really leave it now.” 

_Oh._

“So, you’re… a ghost.” 

She hummed and nodded, and he couldn’t believe he was falling for it. He wasn’t one to believe in ghosts and apparitions. Surely, she was just some girl one of the other guys planted there for him to discover on the first night. That could only be right, and weren’t ghosts who stay supposed to be vengeful and angry? She sure wasn't, with her warm hair and warm eyes and warm smile and-

She _was_ beautiful, she must’ve been a model or something. 

“What brings you around here? Curiosity like everyone else?” 

He shrugged, “Filming another Youtube video-challenge-thing. Me and my mates are staying here for 8 days, to see if this place is as scary as everyone says it is.” 

She chuckled, and it was deep and soft and crisp and he’d love to hear that again. 

“Like everyone else. But what is this… _Youtube_?” 

_Huh, a model and an actress. _

She tilted her head down and towards him, brows furrowed and eyes sparkling with curiosity, like a kid about to be told a story. It was awfully endearing, and adorable, and she was already beautiful but this made her seem all the more cute. 

“You don’t know what Youtube is?” 

_He was going to get her to crack somehow. _

She shook her head, head still tilted down and looking at him as if still expecting a story. 

“It wasn’t around before I died, are you going to tell me what it is?” 

“It’s a- like a video sharing website. You film videos and then you can post them and people watch.” 

“What’s a video?” 

He spluttered. Surely she couldn’t be serious, was she really going to keep acting like she didn’t know anything? She must be getting paid some big bucks by one or more of the Sidemen if she was willing to act like this, all dumb but fascinated by ‘Youtube’ and ‘video’, like she’s never heard of them. 

“It’s like, moving pictures with sound that people can watch over and over again.” 

She hummed again, as if she didn’t believe him. 

He scoffed, “Have you really not heard of video before?” 

She shook her head, brows still furrowed as if she couldn’t imagine a video being played for people to watch. 

“What’s a website?” 

“What?” 

“What’s a _website_?” 

She stared at him blankly, eyes still sparkling and he had to blink to make sure she wasn’t messing with him. What did she mean _what’s a website,_ was she really willing to go this far to pretend she was a ghost from the 18th century? He was starting to find it hard to believe that she’s be that desperate for a few dollars to act as dumb as this.

“It’s like… ah, how can I even explain what it is.” He scratched the back of his neck, lips twisted in a frown as he tried to figure out the right words. How could he explain what a website was? If she really was from the 18th century, she wouldn’t know what the internet was either. 

“It’s like, a thing where you can share stuff with other people. So there’s Youtube where you can share videos, then there’s shops so you don’t need to go down physically to the shop to buy things. Then there’s some where you can just like, talk to other people.” 

He supposed that was as best as he could explain it. It was hard without bringing the internet into it, but he really didn’t want to jump through another hoop to explain to her what_ the internet_ was. 

It was like explaining to his grandparents but 100 times worse. 

“And you use it a lot?” 

“Yeah, I mean, it’s how I earn money.” 

“You earn money from making videos?” 

“Yes…?” 

He supposed being a Youtuber was still a foreign thing to a lot of people but to someone who just learnt the _concept_ of video, it must be even more strange.

“I make videos where I play games and do… stupid shit for other people to laugh at.” 

She stared back at him, blank and confused and the more he talked, the more he felt like he was sounding like an idiot. 

“What about you, what do you do?” 

“I’m a musician, I play for the family whenever they ask me to.” 

“That’s it?” 

“I also write music,” she gestured to the papers, pen and guitar lying next to the window. 

“Can I listen to what you’ve written?” 

“Yeah sure, I mean, you heard a bit when you came in just now but you can listen to the rest.” 

He smiled, following her to the window seat and dragging a chair next to her, straddling the chair when he sat with the back of the chair facing her. She settled into the cushions, wrapping a thin sheet of cloth around her this time, making it look as if she was draped in the moonlight. She didn’t pick up the guitar, instead tapping the beat out with the pen against the paper. 

_“Better things, and better days_

_I’ve been working on a better me, stay out my way_

_On my own, I’m in a better place_

_Got you erased, out my brain_

_Too late to beg on your knees_

_Baby, you missed out on me” _

It was a voice that could stop ships and lead men to their deaths. It was deep and smooth, like a chocolate fondue, yet sweet and sexy and absolutely hypnotic. 

“It’s very… modern.” 

“Yeah, it’s really different from what they usually listen to, but Freya likes it.” 

“Freya?” 

“She’s my best friend, basically. And the daughter of the house.” 

“Is she still… you know, around?” 

“Yeah, but she doesn’t come out very often. Maybe you’ll see her later.” 

She looked down at the papers, fountain pen still tapping against like the song was playing in her head. Her hair fell over her ear, golden and brown and barely brushing against her collarbone. He reached out a little, felt his arm move like he wanted to touch her, but he stopped himself. She was beautiful in an otherworldly way but if he did touch her, _could_ touch her, would he want to? 

He did it anyway. His fingers brushed through a few strands of hair, tucking a portion behind her ear, brushing against the skin of her cheek for a moment. When she turned her head, he pulled away and gave an awkward smile, and she laughed and rolled her eyes. 

“Do you do music?” 

“Yeah, yeah I do but it’s.... It’s not what you do. At all.” 

“Can I hear it?” 

“Yeah, sure if you want to.” His fingers started knocking on the back of the chair, vaguely along to the beat that’s been buried at the back of his mind. She stared up at him, smiling as she waited. The beat was different to her, a lot faster and not at all what she’s heard, even when exploring lesser known musicians and underground music concerts. 

“_Now I think it’s time we switched up the scene_

_Picture Deji Olatunji and a drugged up teen_

_Now some of y'all fans might know who I mean_

_When I said that he met her in Bethnal Green_

_And how many times did she scream help me?_

_Your hairline is fucked, you look like E.T_

_The last time you almost died like this_

_Was the time you crashed your TT_”

“Is that music in your time?” 

“Yeah. There’s stuff like yours too, there’s a lot of different music in ‘my time’ I guess.” 

“It’s just like… fast poetry to a rhythm.” 

“Yeah, it’s kind of like that.” 

She laughed again, looking down at her papers in her lap, “Must be nice, having so many different types of music.” 

“Yeah,” he trailed off, “Too bad you’re dead.” 

_“That’s mean!” _

“What- it’s _true_!” 

“Yeah but,” she sighed, turning to look out the window. The moon had steadily gotten lower over the hours, and he noted the smell of musk around him. He leaned in a bit, the chair creaking under him, and reached out his hand to pat her head. 

“Hey, it’s fine. You still have Freya.” 

She shook her head, brushing his hand off of her head. “The sun will rise soon.” 

“So?”

“I’ll be gone until night comes again.” 

A silence fell over them, and he wasn’t too sure what to say. He placed a hand on her arm, rubbing up and down as they sat for a few minutes. 

“I have to go back to my friends.”

“I know.” 

She pressed her lips together, and turned to him with a hand reached out. Her eyes bored into his, and he could feel himself drowning in the honeyed brown, even when she rested a hand on his cheek. It was cold, not like ice but like stones that had just been rained down upon. Even for someone in England, it was unusually low, and that was the moment he could believe that she might have actually been dead. 

She leaned in to him, and she had no smell but he could feel her icy breath against his lips as he watched her move closer. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears, pumping hard and against his ribcage. 

“Your eyes are the nicest blue.”

He nodded, and could feel it when she brushed her lips against his. 

She pulled back slightly, and he stared at her in a strange sort of wonder. She smiled, all teeth and plump lips stretched, and he wanted to lean in again but how dumb would he look if he just passed through her. 

“What’s your name?” He whispered, like the space between them would widen if he spoke too loud, like she would disappear if he didn’t.

“Talia.” 

“I’m Simon,” he smiled. She nodded, picking up her papers and pen and the guitar, and gave a brief smile. With all her items, she stood up and started walking towards the door, footsteps silent and light and almost as if she were floating. He stood up after her, his weight making the floorboard creak, keeping his eyes on his figure in a daze. 

“It was nice meeting you.” She stopped at the door for a moment, turning around to face him and gave another bright smile. 

“Yeah, you too.” He nodded, returning the smile. She turned back to the door, turning the knob and opening it, and he saw her hesitant. He wanted to walk towards her, stop her maybe, but she stepped out before his thought translated into action, closing the door silently behind her. 

He stood there for a few minutes, replaying what had happened in his head but all he could remember was the golden light she radiated, yet had the coldest of touches. 

He made his way to the door, wood under him creaking and weak. The smell of grass and musk was starting to get overpowering, the night breeze started flowing in through the window and he turned to find the glass panes had been removed and all that was left was the rotting wooden sill. 

The doorknob was rusted and rough, hard to open as if it hadn’t been used in decades and screeched when he finally managed to twist it. The door made a hollow screech when he pushed it open, the dark oak chipping and the engraving lost to time. 

His video camera was sitting just next to the door, and he turned it on, only to find that the last few minutes of video captured was of him walking towards the door before it blacked out for the next few hours. 

“Talia, huh.” 

He could still hear her voice in his head as he walked back up to his room, ready to tell the rest of the boys that he hadn’t found anything interesting. 

He’ll chalk it up to her being some sort of hallucination from lack of sleep, with her cold hands and icy breath and the voice of an angel. A hallucination that maybe, just maybe, he grew a bit more attached to than he was supposed to be. 

A hallucination that made his heart skip a beat. 


End file.
